


Who Made Who

by cloud_wolfbane



Series: Eye of the Tiger Verse [3]
Category: Criminal Minds (US TV), His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman, Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Daemons, Gen, Kid Fic, Mentions of violence towards children, Threats of Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-21
Updated: 2020-04-21
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:41:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23775520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cloud_wolfbane/pseuds/cloud_wolfbane
Summary: While investigating a series of child murders in Wyoming, Special Agent Rossi meets a boy that will haunt him for a very long time.
Series: Eye of the Tiger Verse [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/983271
Comments: 11
Kudos: 209





	Who Made Who

**Author's Note:**

> It’s been 2 years, guys, I am so sorry. I can’t even promise I’ll be able to update anytime soon again. 2 years ago I started med school (Hell Yes!) and I still have 2 more study filled years before I even get to residency, but I did manage to knock this out a few days ago. I hope everyone is doing well in these crazy times and you enjoy what is, hands down, my favorite crossover.

# Who Made Who

Dave pulls into an old gas station off highway 80. They’re only about an hour shy of Rock Springs, but he’s learned quickly during this trip to get gas every time he sees a station. Wyoming is a long stretch of empty hills and mountains with wind strong enough to give their old Cadillac a run for its money.

“Hey, you want coffee?” Dave asks, slapping Jason on the shoulder. 

Jason snorts, sitting up with wide-eyed surprise. “Wha?” He asks, wiping drool off his cheek with the back of his hand. 

“Seriously,” Dave huffs, “You’ve been dead to the world since Colorado. I’m getting you some coffee so you can finish the drive.” 

“Yeah, course,” Jason grins, unrepentant. He’s well aware that Dave prefers to be the one driving. 

Dave resists the urge to roll his eyes as he gets out of the car. His back cracks loudly and he has to shake out his stiff legs. “I’m getting too old for this,” he grumbles. 

“We both are,” Stephen agrees, landing heavily on the roof of the car. There are permanent dents now for claws to settle into, the black paint chipped to bare metal. 

“You want to ride the rest of the way?” Dave looks over his daemon, Stephen is a great horned owl, dusty gray and brown. He’s usually well kept, fastidious about grooming, but his feathers are in all directions. He looks exhausted. 

“Yes, this wind is ridiculous,” he complains, fluffing up his breast even more and scrunching in on himself, a giant ball of disgruntled feathers. 

“I’ll be right back, it’s not much further now,” Dave runs his fingers down Stephen’s back a few times, straightening the feathers and taking comfort in the touch. He needs it, this case is going to be a rough one. 

The gas station is just shy of dilapidated, it doesn’t seem to have a name, and the smell of diesel is overwhelming. It’s obviously a popular stop though. There are two other cars at the pumps and he can spot an equally ancient motel behind the place with an attached diner. Actually… he looks closer now taking in the 18-wheelers parked in the back-lot and the rust bucket of a playground hiding under some overgrown pine. This is exactly the sort of place their Unsub would use as a hunting ground. 

He walks into the station with sharper eyes now, the sluggishness of the road swept away in the hunt. The attendant is some kid, can’t be more than 18, with his head in a dirty magazine, probably related to whoever owns the place. 

Dave heads over to the coffee, a dusty thermos that’s probably been stewing since 5 o’clock this morning, but it still won’t be as bad as the sludge back at the bureau. He glances at the other two occupants as he gathers up cups and lids. 

Staring desperately into the cooler and the lines of sodas is a middle-aged black man, 6’1, 190lbs with a boxer daemon. Dave can tell right away that he’s the owner of the red sedan at the pumps. Probably looking for the exact drink his pregnant wife had sent him in here for. Dave had seen her standing next to the car on his way in. 

The other patron is a Hispanic woman in her early twenties, 5’4, 140lbs with an ermine daemon curled around her shoulders. Most likely the owner of the old honda with the loaded down backseat, moving cross country. 

He doesn’t notice the third customer right away. Movement in one of the security mirrors catches his attention and he realizes there is a kid in the store. He’s crouched down in the candy section, looking seriously at the 4 for a dollar candy bars. 

Dave has a hard time judging the kid’s age. He’s probably a teen, but just barely. His clothes are too big for him, including a leather jacket that swallows him, but something about the sure way he moves makes him seem older. If Dave hadn’t been watching him so closely, he never would have caught the shoplifting. With the 4 chosen candy bars the kid shoves a jar of peanut butter in his pocket with a smooth sleight of hand. Dave’s impressed, despite himself. While he works on making up the coffees, he sees the kid pocket a pack of ace bandages, bandaids, aspirin, and a box of poptarts. Each item disappears beneath the oversized jacket. 

The kid is clever. While the older teen at the register probably would not have noticed anyways, a kid coming in and out without buying something causes suspicion, but a kid picking out some candy bars and a loaf of bread, well, he’s paying, no worries there. The kid also buys the bananas by the front counter that are looking a little worse for wear. He pays with a crumbled five, looking completely relaxed. 

Dave has no intention of ratting the boy out. A kid shoplifting a candy bar is just usual teenage shenanigans, but a kid taking peanut butter and medicine- he needs it. The complete lack of nerves also tells Dave this isn’t the first time, this is a skill, long honed. He would have let the kid go on his way if he had not gotten a good look at him. The kid, somewhere between 11-14, has dirty blond hair and vibrant green eyes, an old bruise highlighting the freckles across his cheeks. He’s a perfect match for their Undub’s victimology; young, pretty, and vulnerable. 

Dave abandons the coffee and hurries out the door. He sees the kid rounding the corner of the store and goes to follow. The moment he passes the aging brick he hears a noise that makes his blood run cold. Dave has faced down the worst of humanity, has been threatened with guns and knives and even fucking bombs, but he’s never faced down a pissed off tiger. 

The daemon, it HAS to be a daemon, is massive, muscle in sharp relief against fire orange fur. It’s eyes are acid green and slitted above a snarling maw filled with 4 inch fangs. It’s the closest Dave’s ever come to pissing himself. 

“What the fuck do you want?” The kid snaps from beside the tiger, a knife held steady in his hand. 

Dave has to take a deep breath to steady his nerves. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” he says, ignoring the kid’s snort of amusement. “I wanted to ask you some questions. I’m an FBI agent. Special Agent David Rossi.”

“Yeah and I’m the pope,” the kid rolls his eyes, but he never drops his guard with the knife. 

Dave recognizes someone that knows what they are doing. Most people that have never used a knife, their grip is all wrong, but the kid is confident in his hold and movements. He wonders what could have happened to this boy to have his daemon settled into such a shape and still needing to learn how to defend himself with a knife. 

“I’m going to take out my badge,” Dave holds up both hands, very slowly opening his coat. His gun is holstered at his side, obvious when he pulls his coat out to grab his badge from the inside pocket. The kid glances at the gun, the daemon tensing even more, a growl rumbling deep in his throat, but neither of them move to strike.

Dave settles his coat back and shows the badge. The kid snatches it out of his hand with blinding speed. Dave keeps his hands up, making no motion to get it back. 

Most people glance at the badge, maybe admire the shield, but he’s never had anyone glare at it the way the kid is. He runs his fingers over the shield, pulling it and his ID out of the holder so he can look at the back of them, running his fingers over the lamination. 

“Ehh, maybe,” the kid shrugs, tossing it back. “What kinda questions?” 

Dave takes what he can get. “My partner and I are looking for a suspect in the area, most likely a trucker, he’s been running all over highways 80 and 25 focused in Wyoming.” 

“And…” The kid drawls, looking unimpressed. 

Dave rarely interviews kids, he isn’t sure where he should draw the line of what to say, but judging by the particular kid in front of him, he guesses there isn’t a line. “He’s been murdering kids and dumping their bodies along the highways. Four victims between the ages of 8-14, male and female. You’re...his type. I wanted to warn you, ask if you’d seen anything suspicious” 

The boy straightens, spine becoming even more rigid. “You think he’s in the area?” 

Dave goes for honesty, “I think these are good hunting grounds,” 

The kid’s eyes go wide with sudden realization. “Sam!” He turns on his heel and sprints away, daemon at this side. 

Dave follows him, keeping a safe distance. They don’t go far. On the other side of the gas station is an old pine with an equally old picnic table beneath. There is a younger boy at the table. He’s sitting quietly with a pile of books on the green-wood table, a squirrel curled up beside him. 

He looks up in surprise when he hears the running. The squirrel stands, shifting in a blink to a growling red-tailed fox. “What’s wrong Dean?” The boy asks, pulling a knife of his own out of his too-large jeans. 

“I told you to stay in the motel until I came back!” Dean snaps, but there is concern written all over him. 

The tiger curls around the boy protectively, checking him over with loud sniffs. “Ugg Benny, I’m fine,” Sam grumbles, ineffectively shoving at the tiger’s giant head. “You went like ten feet, and you said we could eat out here for lunch. What’s going on?” 

Dean huffs, riled up and adrenaline pumping. “It’s not safe, there’s something in the area.” 

“Something? I thought Dad…” Sam trails off, looking over at Dave. 

Dean flicks a thumb at him, “Says he’s an FBI agent, hunting a serial killer.”

“Like a real one?” Sam asks, looking more surprised and curious then afraid. 

Dean shrugs,” Maybe, not sure, but it’s got a taste for kids.” 

“Oh,” Sam murmurs. He leans into his brother for a quick hug. “Sorry Dean.” 

Dean rolls his eyes in the expression of teenagers everywhere, but still manages to lean into the hug. 

The conversation obviously has a couple of meanings the Dave isn’t privy to, but he decides not to push. Both boys are thinner than they should be, Dean especially. Their thread-bare clothes are ill-fitting and second hand. They also seem to be living in a motel. The shoplifting makes perfect sense now. He’s dealt with plenty of kids in tough situations, they tend to be the most suspicious of the police, Feds even more so. They aren’t going to trust him just because he has a badge, but that’s okay. They’ll be more careful now and despite his initial assessment of Dean, the Unsub would never go after Dean. Not with that hulk of a daemon shadowing him. 

“Sorry to cause such a damper on your lunch, just stay sharp and stay together, yeah. My partner and I are going to stay here for the next 2 days. If you see anything will you give me a call,” Dave says, making a snap decision. He hands his card over to Dean, who takes it like he’s being handed a bomb. 

“Yeah, whatever _Special Agent_ ,” Dean snarks, but he does stuff the card in his pocket, and that will have to do. 

“Thank you,” Dave says honestly and heads back to the gas station. 

Jason is leaning against the car, sipping from a cup of coffee. His daemon is perched next to Stephen, the Harris hawk looking around with it’s usual sharp gaze. “See something interesting?” He asks, handing over the other cup of coffee as Dave approaches. 

“I want to stay here for the next two days.” 

Jason doesn’t even bother to look surprised, “Want me to drive the car over?” 

This is why he’s only ever had the 1 partner, “Yeah, thanks, I’ll walk,” Dave says. 

Stephen grumbles his way to standing, but flies alongside Dave as he makes his way to the motel front desk. It’s a short trip, he sees the boys are still under the tree. Making what looks to be peanut butter and banana sandwiches while their daemons stand guard. 

“Ahh,” Jason hums when he exits the car, coming to stand beside Dave. “A tiger, wow, never seen a daemon like that before.” 

“Do you know what they mean?” Dave asks, because Jason might be a human profiler, but he’s always had a gift for daemons. 

Jason frowns, “depends, daemon’s aren’t their wild counterparts. In the wild, tigers are dangerous hunters, solitary creatures, and extremely territorial. But daemons are influenced but public and personal opinion. In the Chinese Zodiac people born in the year of the tiger or said to be brave, competitive, unpredictable, and confident. They are very charming and well-liked by others. But sometimes they are likely to be impetuous, irritable, and overindulged.” 

“Have I ever told you, you sound like a damn encyclopedia?” 

“At least once a day.” 

They get their room. It’s interior doesn’t look like it’s changed since the 40’s and smells like smoke covered up with bleach, but years on the road have made this the norm. 

“Did you know that the number of ‘exotic’ daemon’s has increased since the invention of the television?” Jason says running his hand over the ancient box in the room. 

“No, I didn’t know that,” Dave throws his ready bag on the bed closest to the door and hunts for his case notes, letting Jason mull through whatever information he suddenly feels like sharing. Stephen makes a nest on one of the faded pillows, spreading out his wings in an exhausted display. Dave figures he’s going to be riding in the car from now on. Damn they’re getting old. 

“There was an experiment,” he scowls,” if you can call it that, done during the war. They took 40 unsettled children and gave twenty of them a book on African animals. The other 20 children were given a book about a golden retriever. Most of the children settled within the year. 45% of the children that had the book on African animals settled as an animal in the book. Of the other children 90% settled as a dog, 40% of them being golden retrievers. Because of the stress of the environment the results aren’t reliable, but longitudinal studies have shown that children that watch nature documentaries lean towards more exotic daemons.” 

“Is it all subconscious though? I mean I can’t say I knew a great deal about owls when Stephen settled,” Dave asks, genuinely curious. This is one of Jason’s more interesting info dumps. 

“No one can seem to agree, but think of all the killers we’ve caught. How many of them had dogs?” 

Dave scrunches his brow, trying to count them up. “Uh, not sure, a fair amount.”

“78%, dogs are the most common daemon in the western world, but the average is still only 35% in the general population, but you watch TV and everyone in sit-coms and movies have dog daemons, because if the actor or actress’s real daemon doesn’t match their character, dogs are easy to train and versatile depending on breed. Sociopaths and psychopaths see those shows and those movies and they see that dog daemons are respectable. They are trusted and ‘normal’.” 

Dave’s eyes widen, “So they influence the shape into what they expect the world wants to see?”

“That’s my theory anyways. It’s why profiling based on daemons is so difficult. There’s too many variables as to the how and why of the settling process.”

“Huh, sounds like you have an idea for my next book,” Dave winks. 

Jason rolls his eyes, but doesn’t deny it. He doesn’t want the spotlight or the money, he just wants to catch the bad guys, bring as many kids back to their parents in whatever way that he can. He helps with the books because he likes research and because the more interest they can bring to the BAU the better. They’re still building their army after all. 

“I’m still waiting for my plane,” Jason calls over his shoulder, heading into the bathroom. 

The next morning they head to the police station in Rock Springs. The detectives have gathered the more detailed case files, so they can build a stronger profile. Unfortunately, even the detailed files are slim. 

“No DNA left behind, they didn’t even find drugs on the autopsy.” Dave spreads out the files in front of him. 

“They did find cotton fibers in the mouths of all four victims though. He must be strong to overpower them without drugs and without making a scene. I think he’s covering their mouth when he grabs them.” Jason holds up a bag with the smallest piece of thread. 

“So he’s confident, arrogant, to take them without even using drugs, and they all disappeared from relatively public places. Anyone could have seen him. The way he dumps the bodies, too, he could have easily dumped them out in the wilderness somewhere no one would ever find them, but he didn’t even try.” 

“It’s because they don’t matter,” Jason picks up one of the autopsy photos with utmost care. “He treats them like a means to an end.”

Dave draws in a sharp breath, “because he never mattered, either an orphan or from an abusive home with multiple children. He finds children worthless because he was considered worthless as a child. Adult rule was absolute, and he reflected that as he aged.” 

When Dave first joined the bureau, he always thought of things in black and white, that some people were just born bad. He’s now found that, more often than not, serial killers are made, not born. Not that it’s an excuse, but sometimes he wonders what would happen if they could get to the children before they became killers. A fool’s dream. 

“He’d be antisocial, a loner,” Jason agrees, drawing Dave out of his spiral. “That would support him being a trucker, easier to hold a job if he doesn’t have to talk to anyone.”

“But how to narrow it down, we can’t put out a bolo for a middle aged trucker with social issues?”

“No but we can narrow it down. We know he must be running the highway 80 and 25 route, most likely based out of Wyoming. We haven’t found any similar cases outside of the state, we just have to get the names of the truckers that only work within the state. How many can there be?”

Turns out, a lot. 

It’s late by the time they head back to the hotel, and Dave curses the hour drive, but he still trusts his gut about staying in the motel. 

“Dinner?” Jason asks when they get back, gesturing to the diner. 

It’s the sort of place that looks like it would serve burgers with a side of salmonella, but Jason would live on diner food if he could, like an 80 year old man. “Yeah sure, my stomach’s steel by now anyways.” 

The place is cleaner on the inside, and while it smells like french fries, it isn’t the stink of three day old grease that a lot of these places have. They both order burgers and fries. Dave is pleasantly surprised by the meal. The burgers are good and the tomatoes fresh, they even make their french fries from scratch.

“Can I get you anything else?” The waitress asks when they push their empty plates away. 

“I’d love an apple pie a la mode if you have it,” Jason orders, because the man has a terrible sweet tooth. 

“Of course sweetie, and you?” 

“Actually,” Dave says, making the decision before his brain even properly registers, “can I get two more burgers and fries and two slices of pie to go, please.” 

“Coming right up.” 

Jason hides his grin behind his coke, but says nothing. 

Dave scowls all the same, “Shut up.” 

Jason shrugs, unrepentant, “I think you’re doing a good thing, really.” 

Dave knows Jason would never judge him for a little charity, not from the guy that regularly steals the little soaps from hotels to hand them out to the homeless. Still, he doesn’t know why he’s taken a shine to a kid that just about killed him. 

Jason eats his pie with relish, even letting Dave sneak a few bites before they head back to the motel. Jason abandons him, but he appreciates not having an audience. It takes a simple flash of the badge to get the boys’ room number, signed in under an obviously false ‘Robert Plant’ alias. 

Before he gets to the door he plucks $40 from his wallet and shoves it in between the fries. When he knocks, he’s not at all surprised to hear Deans gruff, “What the hell do you want?” 

He’s pleased the kid takes their security seriously, but it does make this difficult. “I brought you and your brother some burgers, thought I might bribe you to see if you’ve seen anything.” 

“And if we didn’t see nothin?”

“Well, I already ate, so you might as well have them.” 

There is a commotion on the other side of the door, furious whispers between the boys before the door is opened a crack, the chain still in place. Half of Dean’s glaring face peers out from the opening. “Ten truckers came through last night. Three stayed at the motel, the rest stayed in their trucks. They stay here instead of Rock Springs because it’s cheaper and the motel gives them a discount. All ten of them left this morning. No one new has checked into the motel. Five more truckers parked tonight, they are all staying in their trucks, no one has messed with us.” 

The string of information is quick and efficient like a report being read to a general. 

Dave barely manages to hide his surprise. “Well, thank you. That’s good to hear. I think you’ve definitely earned a burger then.” He hands out the bag, and while it gets a little squished Dean pulls it though the door easy enough. 

“Keep up the good work,” Dave says with a wave. 

“Yeah, whatever,” Dean shuts the door in his face. 

Dave’s not offended, if anything, the kid is taking the threat seriously. He’s almost back to the room when he hears an excited shout, “Holy shit there’s pie!” 

He sleeps easy that night for the first time in weeks. 

The next day is back to Rock Springs. Sorting more paperwork from the trucker companies. It’s an endless slog and they are getting nowhere, but they have to try, it’s all they can do. 

They don’t get out of the police station until 8 and by then, Dave’s just about cross eyed. He’s downing coffee before they leave when a sergeant runs after them. “Wait, you’ve got a call!”

“A call? Who?” Dave asks following the sergeant back into the station. “Special Agent David Rossi,” he says when he picks up the phone. 

“Heya, _special agent_ ,” Dean says on the other end of the line. 

“Is everything okay?” 

“Yeah,” Dean huffs, and Dave can practically hear the shrug. “I’d get back here if I were you though. I found your guy.”

He says it so calmly, it takes Dave a second to realize what Dean is actually saying. “What?! Dean that man is extremely dangerous and you need to…”

“Don’t worry about it,” Dean interrupts, “I took care of it.” 

The line goes dead with a click. 

Time goes blurry after that, but Dave’s pretty sure he made it from Rock Springs to the motel in less than 30 minutes. There are sirens and flashing lights everywhere. Three police cars and two ambulances fill the parking lot. 

Dave and Jason push their wave through, badges at the ready. 

“Looks like we didn’t need the feds after all,” the sheriff says when he sees them, looking pleased. His daemon is a german shepherd, typical. 

“Let me see the body,” Dave demands, “and where is Dean and Sam?”

“Who?” The sheriff takes off his hat, scratching at his balding scalp. “Pretty sure the girl’s name is Tabitha, and the mom is Diana. Haven’t heard of any Dean or Sam. Body is this way though.”

He leads them to one of the ambulances, the body bag already loaded. 

“You already cleared the crime scene?” Dave growls.

The Sheriff shrugs, “Pretty open and shut, don’tcha think. You can ask the kid, but the story was clear. Guy came up behind her when she went to get a soda out of the machine around the corner. Guy had a damn chimpanzee for a daemon, subdued the girl’s at the same time. When the guy tried to carry her off a fucking tiger jumped on his back, killed him before he hit the ground. The kid is shaken, but she’s not physically hurt. Damn lucky.”

Dave grabs some gloves and opens the bag. The man just looks like any other 40-something white trucker in the midwest. There are four puncture marks in each shoulder and the impression of teeth on his neck. It was a clean death, snapped neck, no hesitation, and it makes him sick to look at. 

It’s taboo to touch a daemon if you aren’t family or lovers and daemon’s don’t touch other humans. In the bureau they are trained to fight with their daemons, to adjust to having people touch them and to focus through the discomfort. It hurts the first time someone unknown touches your daemon and it takes a long time to get used to it. Dave hated it, but there have been plenty of times Stephen has flown down to save his ass. 

The tiger didn't hesitate. The marks are clean and efficient, practiced. Killers, he knows, aren’t born; they're made. He doesn’t have to check the room to know the boys are long gone. Dean would have been heading out the door when he called. He could issue a bolo, the boys are probably pros at laying low, but the tiger would be easy enough to find. 

“Let me talk to the girl,” he says instead. 

Tabitha is 13, and probably in the middle of a growth spurt, she’s got the spindly limbs of a newborn colt. Her daemon is a beautiful tabby, curled into her lap and purring up a storm. Her mom is sitting at her side, arm curled protectively over her shoulder. 

“Hello Tabitha,” Dave greets softly, holding out his badge. “I’m special agent David Rossi and this is my partner Jason Gideon. I know you’ve had a terrible night, but do you mind if I ask you come questions?”

“She already spoke with the Sheriff,” Diana snaps.

“No mom, it’s okay he’s the one the boy talked about. I don’t mind,” Tabitha says. Her voice is soft, but there is a stubborn jut to her chin. 

Dave has to hide his surprise at the comment, “Could you tell me what you remember?”

“Yeah, I uh, I wanted a soda, so I told mom I was going to grab one. The machine was right around the corner and there were street lights and stuff. I was just putting in the quarter when suddenly there was this dirty rag around my mouth. I tried to scream and kick him where the sun don’t shine, but he just pulled me back to his chest and then…” she choked back a sob burying her hands into her purring daemon’s fur. “His daemon must have grabbed Sal, because it felt like I was being crushed, I couldn’t breathe. Then it was just gone. This huge weight hit from behind and I was free. We both were. I saw his daemon just,” she sprawled her fingers out, “poof. This kid comes up and he’s got a tiger with him and he tells me to go get my mom and call the cops. He said I should talk to ‘Special Agent Rossi’ if I could. That was it, he was gone by the time my mom and I came back out here. He’s not in trouble is he? He saved my life!”

“No,” Rossi assures her,” he’s not in trouble, he did a very brave thing, you both did. Thank you so much for your time.” 

“We going to look for him?” Jason asks when they are away from all the emergency vehicles. 

Dave pinches the bridge of his nose, growling in frustration. “No, no, I think - I think we should let them go.” He looks at his partner, desperate for reassurance, “What do you think?”

Jason crosses his arms, frowning deeply, “I think you’re right, but this is a rough one. I just don’t think there is anything we can do if we find them.”

“Yeah,” Dave agrees, but the rock in his stomach feels like a goddamn mountain. 

It’ll be fifteen years before he sees Dean again, the blood of a fresh kill still wet on his hands.


End file.
